


I am so much more than royal (snatch your chain and mace your eyes)

by blackkat



Series: Crossover and Fusion Drabbles [15]
Category: Bleach, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Rescue, Swearing, Xanxus is a Kuchiki, Xanxus please, lots of swearing, the Kuchiki are not overly pleased about this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 15:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16244510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Xanxus’s Sky-born intuition is a rough, ragged thing, more given to acute paranoia than any helpful impulses, but he has it. He’s always had it, even when he chooses to ignore it, but some moments it gets harder to push it down, shut it out, focus on logic and reason instead of that little voice screaming in the back of his thoughts. Not Vongola Hyper Intuition, but bad enough on a normal day.Worse, now. So much worse. His instincts are going fuckingnuts, and Xanxus can't even begin to figure out why.





	I am so much more than royal (snatch your chain and mace your eyes)

Xanxus’s Sky-born intuition is a rough, ragged thing, more given to acute paranoia than any helpful impulses, but he has it. He’s always had it, even when he chooses to ignore it, but some moments it gets harder to push it down, shut it out, focus on logic and reason instead of that little voice screaming in the back of his thoughts. Not Vongola Hyper Intuition—and really, that’s one birthright Xanxus isn't overly bitter about not inheriting, given what he’s heard the Sawada brat say about it—but bad enough on a normal day.

Worse, now. So much worse. His instincts are going fucking _nuts_ , and Xanxus can't even begin to figure out why. It’s like staring down the barrel of a sniper rifle, like watching poison spread through his wine even as he takes a sip, but there's _nothing_ and Xanxus can't fucking _stand_ it.

“—boss? VOI, _Boss_ , you there?”

Xanxus blinks, tears his eyes away from the wide window of his office and looks at his second. There's mild alarm on Squalo’s face, and the fingers of his flesh hand are white-knuckled as they grip the folder he’s carrying. His other hand hovers close to his sword in a way Xanxus knows is entirely unconscious, and he’ll never admit that it makes him able to breathe just a little bit easier.

“Leave it on the desk and get out, shitty shark,” Xanxus snaps, because it _doesn’t_ make him able to breathe a little easier, because he can handle himself, because Squalo might be his Rain, might have been the first Harmony Xanxus ever managed with his twisted, ugly Flames, but like hell Xanxus will ever stop straining against that bond, pushing at the line to see if he can move it one centimeter further. Squalo hasn’t left yet, hasn’t even tried, but—

 _But but but but_ , that little voice screams, and there are a thousand terrible scenarios playing out in Xanxus’s head at any given moment. He just usually doesn’t deign to pay them any attention.

Worry shifts to irritation, though there's still a trace of the former in the lines around Squalo’s eyes. With a huff, he slaps the folder down in front of Xanxus and says, “That old bastard wants the expense accounts and the mission report for the Alfonsi hit by _Friday_ , Boss—”

Xanxus will do them. Probably. Eventually. But right now it feels like he’s halfway to dead only his body hasn’t caught up yet, like he’s breathing poisoned air or standing still while someone’s pressing a knife against his jugular. If Squalo spends one more minute looming over him, Xanxus is going to throw him out the damned window, and they only just got it replaced. Xanxus likes the view too much to go back to staring at boards.

“ _Out_ ,” he snaps, and then follows his own advice, rising from his chair and sweeping his jacket off the back with a sharp jerk. He tosses it over his shoulders, not bothering to put it on despite the bite of winter in the air, and shoves past Squalo. The hallway is empty, the hour stretching towards evening; Xanxus can hear the distant echo of raised voices and laughter, but his end of the wing is deserted.

Xanxus still feels eyes on him, and the skin between his shoulder blades itches like he’s expecting a bullet to hit him there.

“Go find something to do, trash,” he says curtly, and Squalo makes a sound like an enraged teakettle but Xanxus doesn’t linger to hear whatever might come next. He stalks down the stairs at the end of the hall, shoulders through the doors and out into the wide sweep of the back lawn. The sun is sinking, the air rapidly heading towards cold, and Xanxus grits his teeth, sets a hand on the butt of his gun and forces himself to breathe through the urge to dive for cover. There's nothing out here, no hint of danger, no sign of impending attack. Just open air and birdsong, the distant murmur of the guards, the curl of Flames from the practice rooms undergrounds.

With a growl of frustration, Xanxus rakes a hand through his hair, shoving it back, and then turns. He scans the grounds in a long, careful sweep, but even that isn't enough to ease the tightening knot of tension in his chest, the pulse of alarm that’s growing out of his control. It’s enough to make him want to blow up the mansion, go on the run, and he _hates_ it.

The last time he felt like this was his confrontation with Timoteo beneath the Vongola Mansion, and if it gets any worse Xanxus is going to claw his own skin to shreds just trying to escape it.

And then, light and soft and swift, there's a footstep.

Xanxus wrenches around, Flames of Wrath surging to hungry, violent life, both of his pistols aimed in half an instant. His heartbeat triples, races, and he locks eyes with a steady brown gaze and snarls, “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

The man—younger than Xanxus, but not by much—raises his hands, like that’s any kind of gesture when he’s _here_ , in the middle of a base full of assassins and surrounded by guards, without any hint of having raised an alarm.

“Easy,” he says, and despite the bright orange hair, that’s Japanese. Xanxus frowns, and the stranger freezes, then curses. “Damn it, of course they wouldn’t—uh, English? I can—”

“Japanese is fine,” Xanxus says curtly, in the same language, and tightens his finger on the trigger. “But you’d better use it to explain what the fuck you're doing on my property before I put a hole right through you.”

There isn't so much as a flicker of fear on the stranger’s face. He glances at Xanxus’s guns, then back at his face, and says, “You’re in danger. I'm here to help you.”

Xanxus barks out a laugh, rough and angry. “Help me? Shithead, I'm more dangerous than any fucking thing you think’s coming after me.”

Brown eyes widen, and then amusement flickers across the stranger’s face. “Maybe,” he says, and before Xanxus can do more than bristle he adds, “Backup can't hurt. And I know _who_ is after you.”

Xanxus hesitates, but—that’s a point. Lussuria and Viper haven’t heard of any threats, because they would have informed him, and hiding from the intelligence officer of the Varia _and_ one of the Arcobaleno isn't something most people manage, especially when Xanxus is the target.

“Names,” he orders, and doesn’t let his guns waver.

“Look,” the stranger says, faintly exasperated, and his hands come down. Xanxus tenses sharply, but the stranger just flicks him an unimpressed look. “It’s a long story. And it’s about your father.”

If that was an attempt to calm Xanxus down, it does exactly the opposite. He snarls, takes a stride forward until the stranger is looking right down the barrel of the closest gun, and demands, “What the hell do you have to do with Timoteo—”

“Not him,” the stranger says evenly, holding his gaze. “Your _real_ father.”

Xanxus freezes, breath knotting up hard and fast in his chest. The words ring in his ears, and it’s impossible that no one else knows—the Sawada brat and his guardians all learned the truth, and might have spread it, but—

But it still feels like getting kicked in the balls without warning, and Xanxus can't help but take a sharp step back.

The stranger blows out a heavy breath, then tips his head towards the door. “Inside?” he asks.

Xanxus refuses to look at the sympathy on his face, the kindness in his eyes. Turns, instead, and if his breath shakes faintly on the exhale that’s _fine_ because no one can see. “The garden,” he says shortly, because Squalo is inside, probably fucking around in Xanxus’s office like the busybody he secretly is, and Xanxus has shared enough secrets with him regardless of whether or not he meant to. Squalo doesn’t need this one until Xanxus decides he can have it.

“Under cover might be better,” the stranger says, but when Xanxus just grunts and heads for the low stone wall off to the side, he follows willingly enough. Xanxus keeps half an eye on him, instincts trained and waiting for the slightest hint of threatening movement, and the fact that the stranger isn't carrying a weapon doesn’t put him at ease at all. He’s too casual, too easy in his stance; Flame users who can pull a weapon out of thin air look the same way, and though Xanxus can't feel any hint of his power, he’s not going to assume it isn't there. That’s a good way to get killed.

The garden is empty; this is Xanxus’s space, and people have learned not to so much as poke their noses past the wall for fear of a gunshot of Flames of Wrath. Xanxus doesn’t particularly like having a stranger in here, but it’s still better than having this conversation somewhere someone else might catch wind of it. He tightens his grip on his gun, breathes out in a sharp huff, and heads for a stand of cherry-laurel trees trained into a tight screen. No one here, either, and he turns on his heel to face the orange-haired stranger, opens his mouth to demand an explanation—

A woman touches down next to the stranger, short and petite and dark-haired, with violet eyes and perfect composure. She’s dressed in traditional Japanese clothes, and she’s carrying a sword with a white hilt at her side.

“Ichigo, I checked the perimeter,” she says. “There's no sign of—”

“Who,” Xanxus bites out, “the flying fuck are _you_?”

The woman stops, blinks. Stares at him, wide-eyed, for half a second, and then turns like she’s looking for where Ichigo is, just to check that Xanxus isn't talking to him. Ichigo looks equally bewildered, though, and she looks back at Xanxus, hesitates, and then asks, “You can… _see_ me?”

“You're standing right there, aren’t you?” Xanxus snaps, lifts his gun. “You think I'm fucking—”

“Ichigo!” the woman hisses, and turns, kicking Ichigo hard in the shin. He yelps, recoiling, and when he ducks down she slams a fist down on top of his head. “I thought you said you could control your damned reiatsu, idiot! If you're infecting people _already_ —”

“Damn it, you violent midget, it’s not _me_! I've been around him for maybe three minutes! He saw you on his own! Ow, _Rukia_!”

Rukia scoffs, gripping his ear for another twist before letting him go. She turns to Xanxus, folding her arms over her chest, and asks, “You can see spirits?”

Spirits. Something goes cold in Xanxus’s chest, and he scowls. “Imprints,” he corrects sharply, because that’s what the shitty old man always told him they were. “Impressions from people with strong Flames that stick around after they’ve bitten it.”

Rukia and Ichigo trade quick glances, and then Rukia makes a face. “Spirits,” she concludes. “Have you always been able to see them?”

Xanxus is going to find Timoteo and shove a Wrath bullet down his _throat._ “Yeah,” he says. “What the fuck is this about?”

Rukia hesitates again, the determined set of her body faltering into reluctance, and then she takes a breath and says, “Your father was a spirit. He was from a noble house, the Kuchiki, in Soul Society. The afterlife.”

It feels like there's a fist around Xanxus’s throat, like he can't quite pull in his next breath. “Spirit,” he repeats, and the word has a thousand jagged edges to tear through his throat. “He was fucking _dead_?”

This, of all things, seems to catch Rukia off guard. She opens her mouth, closes it, then frowns. “I—I'm not sure? Any person born within the bounds of Soul Society is a new soul, set to enter the reincarnation cycle when they die, but—”

“Technically, he was a Shinigami,” Ichigo cuts in, rolling his eyes. “But he fell in love with a human, and because the family head is _stupid_ —”

“The Kuchiki are an old, noble clan,” Rukia says reprovingly, though the slant of her mouth is rueful. “Marriages are handled carefully, and his was…”

“Even more of a screw you to the family than Byakuya’s?” Ichigo finishes dryly.

Xanxus growls, irritated with the argument he can't follow. “Who the hell is Byakuya?” he demands.

Rukia flashes him a faintly wan smile. “My brother,” she says. “The current head of the Kuchiki Clan.” Another hesitation, and then she takes a breath and says, “Ichigo, go check the borders.”

“What?” Ichigo protests. “But you just—”

“ _Go_ , Ichigo!”

With a huff, Ichigo pulls a badge with a flaming skull from his belt, slaps it to his chest, and there's a ripple that makes Xanxus’s head spin. When his vision clears, Ichigo's body is collapsed on the ground, but Ichigo is standing in front of him, wearing the same uniform as Rukia, with the addition of a massive black sword strapped across his back. He gives Xanxus a sharp look, then leaps, and it’s like the empty air catches him as he rises, disappearing over the tops of the trees.

Rukia takes a faintly shaky breath, then says formally, “Forgive me, but—Ichigo doesn’t need to hear this story again. My brother, he also married a woman the family didn’t approve of.”

Xanxus looks at her, at the set of her features, the tightness of her stance, and snorts, looking away. “Let me guess, it didn’t work out.”

“No,” Rukia agrees quietly. “Nii-sama married my sister, and she left me in the Rukongai, the—the slums of Soul Society, in order to be with him. After she passed away, he came to find me and adopt me.”

Xanxus thinks of the slums he knew, of cold winters and a mother who could never tell what was reality and what was a dream. Thinks of her desperate hope when he first manifested his Flames, and the way she’d clung to the thought of Timoteo as his father. He should have known, then, but—he hadn’t wanted to. Being the lost son of a high-ranking man fathered on a dirt-poor woman was—

Well. It sounds like that part at least is still somehow true, even though Xanxus had thought it all a lie.

“Fucking shitty childhoods,” he says roughly, and shoves his guns back into their holsters.

Rukia laughs, ragged and worn. “Truly the worst,” she agrees, and takes a step towards him. Her violet eyes are soft, a little wary but mostly kind, and it itches like acid against Xanxus’s skin, but—he doesn’t want to take her head off, somehow. “Cousin,” she says quietly, and Xanxus doesn’t know what to do with that. Family by blood, and he hasn’t had that since he left his mother behind to follow Timoteo, knowing that she wouldn’t last another winter by herself.

“You don’t have a single fucking idea about my world,” Xanxus says, as much of a warning as he’s ever thought to give anyone.

It makes Rukia smile, quick and amused. “I would say the same,” she counters, and then bows. “Kuchiki Rukia.”

“Xanxus,” he says shortly. “Whoever the hell is after me—shitty family members?”

Rukia blows a strand of hair out of her face, looking disgruntled. “Yes. The Kuchiki Clan are charged with preserving the history of Soul Society, and so when they found several journals, they looked through them. They belonged to your father, and…several of the more traditional members thought to remove you as a factor before my brother could find out about you. He did find out, though, and he sent me to make sure you would survive until he dealt with the discontent.”

Cleaned house, more like, Xanxus thinks cynically, and inclines his head. “Fucking _politics_ ,” he says disgustedly.

The face Rukia makes says she entirely agrees. “It should only be for a few days,” she says. “Nii-sama is thorough.”

Probably thorough in the same way Timoteo used to be, before sentimentality left him weak, Xanxus thinks. He snorts, glances back towards the mansion, then asks, “Got a body like that orange-haired bitch?”

Rukia laughs, nudging Ichigo's body with a toe. “He is very bitchy,” she agrees, and there's a light of unholy amusement in her face. “Yes, but I left mine near the front gate so no one would see me.”

Xanxus grunts, then turns to head that direction. He doesn’t particularly care about people hearing him talk to a person they can't see, but it will make Squalo fucking _insufferable_. He worries like an old woman. “I’ll get a room made up.”

Rukia pauses, then sighs. “Two,” she says, and easily keeps pace even when Xanxus lengthens his stride. “I brought two idiots with me, but they can share a room.”

Xanxus snorts, because there's a familiar sentiment. “Two,” he agrees. “The bitch and—?”

“Abarai Renji,” Rukia finishes for him, longsuffering. “My brother’s lieutenant.”

Given the uniforms, Xanxus is pretty certain she doesn’t mean that metaphorically. He grunts in acknowledgement, shoving through the back door and leaving it open just long enough for Rukia to duck through without actually holding it open for her, and then asks, “The old man’s dead?”

Rukia's mouth tightens unhappily. “Twenty-six years dead,” she confirms, voice grim. “We think he was attacked by a high-level Hollow—a hungry ghost—on his way to or from visiting your mother.”

The time means Xanxus never knew his mother when she was happy. Never knew her when she was sane, not fixated on a mafia boss she’d never met or waiting for a spirit lord to finally return. He wonders, for half a second, if she thought she’d been abandoned, if that was the cause of so much of it, but—

In the end, it doesn’t matter. She’s dead, and so is Xanxus’s father, and there's no getting answers from either of them.

“Boss!” a loud voice calls just as Xanxus rounds the corner of the stairwell, heading for the front door. “VOI, Boss, the shrimp—”

Xanxus doesn’t give a single flying fuck what Sawada wants right now. Even if it’s related to the upcoming ceremony of succession. “Double the guard everywhere,” he says curtly. “Flame users only. And get two rooms ready by mine.”

“What?” Squalo pauses, blinking, and then splutters. “Xanxus, is there a threat—?”

“Just do it, trash,” Xanxus snaps, and quickens his pace.

At his elbow, Rukia snorts, casting a glance back at Squalo as the swordsman wrenches at his hair in frustration. “He and Ichigo will get along well,” she says in amusement.

Xanxus grunts, shoving through the front door and slamming it pointedly behind himself. The front gates are down a sloping drive that curves in wide arcs, and Rukia pushes off the ground with more grace than Ichigo, rising into the air and sailing ahead of Xanxus towards the main entrance. Xanxus watches her go for a moment, then stops, not in the mood to run after her like a child trying to keep up.

It does put a very different slant on all the ghosts Xanxus has seen over the years. Not impressions of Flame users at all, but _spirits_. Because his father was a spirit, a Shinigami, and that makes Xanxus…half-Shinigami? Something else entirely? He breathes out, short and harsh, and rakes a hand through his hair, shoving it out of his face. Timoteo told him he was seeing people’s Flame, left over after they died. He’d even cited it as proof of Xanxus’s strength, something no other Sky could do, and Xanxus—

Well. Xanxus always believed him. That was half of the problem, wasn’t it?

There's a shout, sharp and startled, and Xanxus jerks his head up to look, then mutters a curse. The guards are panicking, and Xanxus is already absolutely sure what they're in an uproar about. H stalks down the hill, cutting across the grass instead of bothering to follow the road, and as he approaches he can see the small, dark-haired figure in the middle of the knot of bodies. Rukia is smiling, demure except for the promise of mayhem in her eyes. No more uniform, but a neat skirt and blouse, and she looks prim and proper for all that she isn't even blinking at having half a dozen weapons leveled at her head.

“Xanxus!” she calls sweetly, lifting a hand that makes everyone around her tense.

“Rukia,” Xanxus returns dryly, but he can appreciate someone whose first impulse is to fuck with people. A jerk of his head clears the guards away, and he stops, waiting for Rukia to push through and reach his side. She smirks as she approaches, and Xanxus rolls his eyes, but says to the guards, “Get the hell back to your posts.”

“They won't be able to stop anyone from Soul Society,” Rukia says quietly, and hooks her fingers around Xanxus’s elbow like it’s a natural motion. For a moment, Xanxus thinks about shaking her off, but he decides it’s too much effort to bother with.

“They can at least look like they're making a fucking effort,” he says, glancing back over his shoulder.

Rukia makes a sound of amusement. “Renji and Ichigo should be done soon,” she says. “And they’ll meet us near the house.”

She doesn’t ask him to make sure neither of them gets shot, so clearly they can handle themselves. Or the idea is amusing, which would be Xanxus’s reaction. Either way, he doesn’t bother telling the guard at the foot of the stairs as he passes. Doesn’t tell Squalo, either, even when Squalo slams out with a bellowed, “VOI, YOU SHITTY BOSS—”

There's a mostly-empty flask of whiskey in Xanxus’s pocket, and it just misses making contact with Squalo’s head as he ducks with the speed of well-honed instincts. “Fuck off,” Xanxus tells him, while Rukia waves at him with perfect gracious civility, smiling like a high-society debutant at a ball.

“ _What_?” Squalo splutters. “VOI, WHO THE HELL IS THIS?”

“Kuchiki Rukia, at your service,” Rukia says, and actually fucking _curtsies_. Squalo almost falls over from shock, and Xanxus has to contain a snicker as he stalks past.

“Someone put out a hit on me,” he tells his second. “Don’t fucking slack off.”

“That’s not a fucking _surprise_ ,” Squalo protests. “It’s easier to find all the people who _don’t_ want you dead!”

“You must be very popular,” Rukia says breezily, and Xanxus scoffs—

There's a massive crash, a roar. One wall of Xanxus’s mansion shatters, collapsing inward, and the hand on Xanxus’s elbow is suddenly hauling him back, dragging him behind Rukia as she pulls her sword out of thin air. Some of the rubble shifts, and with a groan Ichigo surfaces from the tumble of stone, dragging his massive cleaver-sword up with him.

“Damn it, Renji!” he snaps.

“Move faster, carrot-top!” another voice calls back, and a man with fiery red hair and plenty of tattoos goes sailing past the opening, colliding with something that blurs in front of Xanxus’s eyes.

“Ichigo!” Rukia says sharply, and leaps. In the same moment, Ichigo falls back, grabbing Xanxus around the waist and hauling him right off his feet. Xanxus swallows the undignified sound that wants to escape, grabs a gun, and lets his Flames swirl to life in a rush of angry orange-gold. The first shot almost hits a figure wrapped in black cloth, sends it careening back out of sight, and Xanxus curses the near miss.

“Nice shot,” Ichigo says, and their feet find stone, the edge of the staircase’s railing just wide enough to balance on.

“Missed,” Xanxus says disgustedly, just as white brilliance flares, like a moon touching down. Rukia cries something, and her sword shifts, glowing white. Beautiful, and Xanxus is no swordsman, but even he can see that.

“Ichigo, take him and get out of here!” Renji calls, just as a column of white light catches the attacker. There's another, though, and then a third, sliding out of the shadows like wraiths. Xanxus can see Squalo staggering upright, blood sliding down the side of his face, but his sword is already in hand and his teeth are bared in a snarl.

The grip on Xanxus’s waist tightens, and Xanxus jerks, snarls, “Don’t fucking _think about it_ —” but it’s too late. Ichigo leaps past the broken wall, up and out and then back towards the garden, and Xanxus struggles, elbows him, but can't break free. Furious, he takes two more shots at an attacker as they close in on Renji, but he doesn’t even have time to see if the shots hit.

“Don’t worry, Rukia will be fine,” Ichigo says, landing them lightly on the grass. He keeps a hold of Xanxus’s elbow, pulls him around and away at a run across the back lawn and towards the forest that edges the property.

“I fucking _know_ that,” Xanxus growls, because Rukia's like him, and Xanxus knows _precisely_ what it takes to fight your way up from nothing to _something_ , what you’ll do to keep it once you have it, and all the power that kind of struggle brings. Rukia's probably as tough as nails, even if she hides it behind cute fashion and a pretty smile.

Ichigo casts him a startled look, then snorts, and the amusement doesn’t quite soften the frown he’s been wearing since he appeared, but it’s clear in his eyes. “I guess you do,” he says, then catches sight of something and spins, jerking Xanxus behind him. that massive cleaver comes sweeping down, planting itself in the earth, and brilliant violet hits the blade with a sound like a gong, splitting around them like a river meeting a mountain. In an instant, Ichigo is gone, leaping over the hilt of his blade to land right in front of the attacker. A swift uppercut knocks them back, and then Ichigo spins, driving an elbow into the side of their face almost too fast to see.

Even Lussuria doesn’t move like that, Xanxus thinks. Shades of similarity, but—Ichigo is a brawler more than anything. Brutal, efficient, blindingly quick, and that’s without even using his sword. The loose sleeves of his uniform put the lean muscles of his arms on display, and Xanxus looks away, feels instinct prickle and is almost grateful for the figure that leaps out of the shadows at him. He blocks the short sword swinging at his head with the barrel of his pistol, knocks it away, takes a shot, and the figure dodges in a rush that isn't human. With a curse, Xanxus tries again, but it’s like trying to hit Sawada—

“Getsuga Tenshō!”

A cleaving wave of red-edged black light cuts through the earth, as hot as a wildfire across Xanxus’s skin. He recoils with a hiss, and on the other side of the light there's a high, eerie wail, an explosion of grey-black vapor. The attacker vanishes, and the smoke shreds, but Ichigo doesn’t hesitate. He grabs Xanxus’s wrist and pulls him along towards the trees.

“They're constructs created by an old spell, not human,” he says over his shoulder. “But until Byakuya finds the source they’ll keep reforming.”

Important information, but every hair on Xanxus’s arms is standing up, his blood singing with even the edges of that wash of power. “What the hell was _that_?” he demands.

Ichigo's smirk has no right to be an attractive thing. “Zangetsu’s power,” he says, and the sword in his free hand shimmers with that red-black light like it’s acknowledging its name.

That’s a lot of fucking power, Xanxus thinks, and has to breathe out. “You're about as subtle as a fucking train wreck,” he says, and can practically _feel_ Sawada dying from the irony of that statement, wherever he is. Not here, though, and that’s all Xanxus really cares about.

Ichigo snorts, but he doesn’t stop moving, reaching the edge of the forest and dragging Xanxus under cover. “Waste of time,” he says, and swings his sword hard, sweeping it out. it slices through another dark-clothed figure that vanishes like smoke, and Ichigo changes direction, following the treeline instead of heading deeper into the shadows.

“Where the fuck are we even going?” Xanxus demands, glancing over his shoulder. The rest of the Varia doubtless heard the explosion, and that means they're going to come looking for him eventually. Squalo most of all—the stupid shark’s loyalty isn't something that will get hung up on spirits and Xanxus disappearing, even if he knows Xanxus can take care of himself.

“Away from here,” Ichigo says, which translates, Xanxus is sure, to _no fucking idea_. With a frustrated growl, he wrenches hard to the side, dragging Ichigo towards a narrow path that looks like an overgrown animal trail more than an escape route. Xanxus hasn’t had to use it in a solid decade, but he wasn’t always the leader of the Varia, and being Timoteo’s son put a fucking big target on him when he was a kid.

“There's a tunnel close to the edge of the property,” he says shortly. “It leads to the old Roman fortress in the nearest town. If you hate small spaces, you're fucked.”

 _Xanxus_ is fucked, really, not that he’s going to say that. Being underground is too much like eight years spent with a vague sort of horrified awareness of his surroundings, a catacomb and a cavern of crushing stone and the chill of the ice made colder by the surroundings. He hates even the thought of going underground, regardless of whether it’s a tunnel or a cave, but it’s also a fucking headache to fight what might as well be shadows.

When he glances over, though, Ichigo is watching him, and that frown is softer, more thoughtful. “I'm fine underground,” he says, like he can see exactly what’s wrong in Xanxus’s head. “Rukia and Renji will find us once they’ve destroyed all the constructs at the mansion. We just need to move fast.”

Squalo is going to have a fucking hissy fit, Xanxus thinks, but it’s distant, distracted. Ichigo's fingers tighten around his wrist, and just for a moment Xanxus can feel an echo of that same power from his sword, brilliant and all-consuming.

“East,” he gets out, though his throat feels thick, and Ichigo paces him easily, shadowing him into the trees without even a moment’s hesitation.

“You're definitely more useful than most of the Kuchiki,” he says wryly, just the shadow of a smirk around his mouth.

Xanxus pretends he doesn’t feel the echo of that humor deep down in his chest. “They sound like fucking pricks,” he mutters, and gets a snort of amusement in return.

Damn it. This is _definitely_ what his instincts were screaming about earlier. Not the attack, but this shitty, handsome, powerful man. Xanxus grits his teeth, curses his luck, but—

He doesn’t make Ichigo release him. Lets Ichigo drag him down through a crack between two rocks, even, and doesn’t shoot him even when the earth closes over their heads.

Insanity. There's no other possible explanation for this, Xanxus thinks, but he doesn’t stop.


End file.
